


there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

by dialecstatic



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, very slight d/s undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:35:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialecstatic/pseuds/dialecstatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanada wonders about his place as the new member of Los Ingobernables de Japon. Naito reassures him, in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dylan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylan/gifts), [Nicole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicole/gifts), [marya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marya/gifts).



> I have a lot of feelings about Invasion Attack 2016. Here are some of them.

The belt hangs heavy from his fingers as they walk home, retrieved from the table where Naito left it.

 

He never wanted it, never cared for the physical thing. He wanted success, wanted to prove them wrong, and then spit in their faces. These people never deserved him in the first place. Now they’d have to earn anything he’d be willing to give them.

 

Sanada doesn’t quite know how he fits in that plan yet. Naito had approached him, offered him a chance to make an impression, a lasting one, and he’d taken it without a second thought, tired of never being seen as enough. If Naito’s way was the right way, if it was the only way, then he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

 

And it paid off.

 

He realizes that as he strokes the leather with his thumb, as he hoists the belt up to study the intricate gold patterns on its front, stopping to scoff at the nameplate that still reads “Kazuchika Okada”. When he looks up, he sees the back of Naito’s head, nonchalantly looking up at the sky, like he’s above everything that happened tonight. He might as well be, Sanada thinks, remembers the aura that surrounded Naito as he stood victorious in the middle of the ring, as he chucked the belt over his head without care or respect.

 

He also remembers how Naito sat close to him, spoken in that slow, Spanish-peppered speech that he mastered, and made no empty promises like everyone else had. He spoke the truth and Sanada wasn’t surprised that BUSHI and Watanabe had listened, and that he too let himself be seduced.

 

Because that’s what it was. There was no point in lying to himself. Naito is magnetic, mesmerizing, there’s something about him that draws people in and ensnares them, and Sanada’s not going to pretend it’s not the case for him. It only takes one look from Naito as he checks that everyone is there to remind him.

 

_***_

 

BUSHI and Watanabe pile up on an armchair in the apartment, BUSHI perched on Nabe’s lap as he takes off his jacket and his mask, something that he only does when it’s just the three - well now, four - of them. He runs a hand through his hair and snaps the elastic in Nabe’s, combing his fingers through the long strands as Nabe works out the kinks in his neck. Naito is looking at them with an almost fond expression, the first time Sanada has seen his eyes soften. It only lasts for a second.

 

“I’m going up to my room.” Naito declares, and his eyes land on Sanada, trailing up and down his body. “Bring the belt.”

 

_***_

 

Sanada lets his hand linger on the doorknob for a moment, unsure of whether or not he should knock. He eventually decides to, his kuckles hitting the door once, twice, before Naito’s voice comes from inside the room.

 

“Come in.”

 

It’s both an invitation and an order, and Sanada wastes no time in swinging the door open, the belt still hanging heavy in his other hand, and Naito’s eyes dart back and forth between it and Sanada from where he’s laying on the bed, now out of his clothes and in his underwear.

 

He’s a sight to behold, all golden skin and lean muscle, and Sanada’s breath catches in his throat before he steps inside.

 

“Close the door.”

 

He does.

 

“You did well tonight.” Naito says, moving to a seated position, beckoning Sanada forward with one hand.

 

Sanada walks over to him, drops the belt on the bed, and Naito grins, leaning back on his elbows, wetting his lips.

 

“I did what you wanted me to. You capitalized.”

 

“Of course I did.”

 

There’s no hesitation in his voice, no fear or questions of whether he could have done things differently. Confidence is radiating from every part of him and Sanada wants to lay his life on the line for him.

 

“Now that I have this,” Naito says, fingers running over the nameplate on the belt, “No one will stand in my way. Or yours.”

 

Sanada knows he means the three of them, him, BUSHI and Nabe, but he takes this for himself, takes advantage of the intimacy of the room to pretend this is just between them.

 

These are words he’s longed to hear all his life.

 

“I was right to follow you.” He breathes, runs a hand through his hair.

 

Naito smiles up at him, that crooked smile that spells danger, and Sanada wants to offer himself up to him entirely.

 

“Everything that I am is yours.”

 

“Good.” Naito says, holds a hand out to tug at the front of Sanada’s jeans. “Because that’s exactly what I want.”

  
And Naito always gets what he wants.


End file.
